


Late-Night Messages

by jooliewrites



Series: Season 3 Coliver Codas [4]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Bottom Oliver, Coda, Episode Related, Episode: s03e04 Don't Tell Annalise, M/M, Minor come play, Post-Break Up, Top Connor, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: In one of the Middleton Law libraries, Connor’s phone beeped with humpr’s signature ding. 
He caught the eye of an undergrad sitting down the way as he dug the phone out of his bag. The guy was young and cute and would be a welcome break from the housing law paper Connor was working on. Connor shot the kid a wink and the guy honest-to-god blushed before turning away to mess with his own phone. 
With a smirk, Connor opened the app. He wondered what line the kid had opened with but stopped dead when he read the screen. Closing the app quickly, he switched over to the phone before he could think.
Oliver answered on the first ring. “Hello.”
“What the hell, Oliver?” Connor hissed into his phone. A group to his left shushed at him to be quiet and Connor flipped them off. 
“I thought my message was pretty clear,” Oliver answered, his tone purposefully droll, deliberately bored. 
“Fuck you,” Connor bit out and Oliver chuckled darkly. 
“Well…that’s kinda the idea.” 
+
A Coliver 3x04 Coda





	

**Author's Note:**

> [originally posted](https://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/post/151912631828/a-coliver-3x04-coda-gets-nfsw-oliver-didnt)

Oliver didn’t bother to turn on the lights as he let himself into his apartment.

He let the door fall closed with a slam and didn’t give a shit if it disturbed his neighbors. Let them hear it. Let it wake them up. Oliver was tired of being nice and quiet and considerate. Fuck being considerate. Fuck being nice. Fuck it all.

He wrenched off his suit coat and balled it up, throwing it hard and fast at the opposite wall. It hit the wall with an unsatisfactory thud and slid down to pool in a mess on the floor. If he left it there it was going to wrinkle. What did it even matter? Let it wrinkle. Who the hell was he trying to impress anymore?

Walking confidently through the dark apartment, Oliver stopped at his cart of liquor and poured two fingers of the first bottle he picked up. It was whiskey and the first sip burned the back of his throat. He coughed once before downing the rest of the glass in one go. He hated whiskey. Why did he even have this shit in his house? He poured himself another generous glass and capped the bottle.

He walked over and flopped down onto the couch. Picking up the remote, Oliver clicked through a few channels before turning the thing off. He wasn’t in the mood for TV. He didn’t want a late night show with the ridiculous jokes and gags and games. He didn’t want to listen to some stupid overpaid, actor pitch some movie that Oliver wasn’t planning on seeing anyway. Beside, the five-seconds of obnoxious audience laughter that had poured out of the TV speakers had made his head hurt.

Oliver swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watched it catch the streetlight coming in through the windows, and wondered what the hell he was in the mood for. It wasn’t TV and thinking about the book sitting on his nightstand only made this…this thing he had bubbling under his skin itch more. He didn’t want to go out or call a friend to come over or kill time online. But Oliver knew he needed something. The day, the week, this past month, it all hung heavy on his shoulders and he felt restless in his own skin. Restless and…and angry.

Yeah. That was it. Oliver nearly smiled at the realization but finished off his drink instead. He was angry. He’d been angry for days now, weeks even. He’d been angry since Wes’s party days ago now. He was angry at Connor’s noisy phone. Angry since Atlantic City. Angry since that kiss and that night and that fight. Angry since that phone call months ago.

Oliver was angry at Connor and Annalise Keating and the rest of them and, most importantly, himself. Oliver was angry at himself. The anger had been simmering, bubbling away for months now, until tonight it had boiled over and Oliver couldn’t ignore it anymore.

He was angry. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Slamming the glass down on his coffee table, Oliver dug his phone out of his pocket. He opened the app and got to work. It took longer than he’d thought but, ever persistent, Oliver eventually found what he was looking for. Clicking open the profile, Oliver typed off the message before he could overthink it and pressed send. Then, he settled back on his couch to wait.

* * *

 

In one of the Middleton Law libraries across town, Connor’s phone beeped with humpr’s signature ding.

He caught the eye of an undergrad sitting down the way as he dug the phone out of his bag. The guy was young and cute and would be a welcome break from the housing law paper Connor was working on. Connor shot the kid a wink and the guy honest-to-god blushed before turning away to mess with his own phone.

With a smirk, Connor opened the app. He wondered what line the kid had opened with but stopped dead when he read the screen. Jesus. Call him old fashioned but Connor usually waited a message or two before telling someone “i want ur cum on my face.”

Connor was about to close the app — the kid was cute but Connor wasn’t in the mood to deal with that shit right now — when the username made him pause. It almost sounded familiar. Connor could have sworn he’d heard it before but, checking the app, he found that they’d never exchanged messages. There wasn’t any history between their profiles.

With a glance over his shoulder, lest a roaming librarian see, Connor clicked into the profile and froze at the picture. It was mostly faceless but for the shadow of a chin but it wasn’t the chin Connor focused on. It was the chest. Connor knew that chest and those arms and those abs. He knew that scar, he’d kissed that freckle. He’d—then it hit him.

They’d been in Oliver’s bed, months before it had ever been their bed, before the whole shit with Pax had ever happened. They’d been lying back against the pillows, their legs tangled, their smiles wide. Oliver had been laughing, breathless with it.

“That’s your username?!?” Oliver had said through a fit of laughter. “Really? Eightisgreat?”

“What?” Connor had shot back with a smile. “It _is_ great.” Oliver had laughed even harder at that and Connor’d leaned in closer, craving, even then, more of Oliver’s joy. “What’s your name, then?”

Oliver had shaken his head, biting his lip to hide his smile. “No. Not telling.”

Connor cocked an eyebrow. “Really? You aren’t gonna tell?” Oliver shook his head again but Connor persisted. “But then how will I know if it’s you?”

“Oh,” Oliver whispered softly. He looked stunned. Some of the light dimmed in his eyes, his smile turned just a touch sad, and Connor froze.

They weren’t exclusive. Oliver had to know that, right? Yeah, so Connor hadn’t actually used humpr in weeks, since he’d met Oliver actually, but that didn’t mean anything. This…this was casual between them. Just…just fun.

“Ollie–” Connor whispered just as Oliver blurted out his username. They both froze this time and Connor licked his lips. “Really?” he said, forcing a joviality into his voice that felt a bit out of place. He had to make things better between them, had to push past that moment of awkward. “You think that is better than mine?”

“Well….” Oliver had grinned up at Connor. “It’s more…. _factual_ at least?”

Connor had balked at that. “Factual. Factual!?!” He climbed over Oliver with a, “I’ll show you factual!” and they made love laughing. Connor couldn’t remember a time before that when having sex had felt so freeing.

Then, at the end of the night, just as he’d been about to stand and start back for his apartment, Oliver had wrapped his arms around Connor, holding him close, and whispered, “Stay” in Connor’s ear. “Don’t go. Just stay here, Con. Stay with me.” And Connor had.

Back in the law library, Connor was closing the app and switching over to the phone before he could think.

Oliver answered on the first ring. “Hello.”

“What the fuck, Oliver?” Connor hissed into his phone. A group to his left shushed at him to be quiet and Connor flipped them off.

“I thought my message was pretty clear,” Oliver answered, his tone purposefully droll, deliberately bored.

“Fuck you,” Connor bit out and Oliver chuckled darkly.

“Well…that’s kinda the idea.”

Connor sat up straight. “Are you drunk?”

Oliver rested his head back on his couch and considered that question. “Not…quite,” he settled on.

“Go to bed, Ollie,” Connor said with a sigh.

“Will you be joining me?”

Yes, Connor thought. “No. Get some sleep.”

Oliver groaned. “Whatever,” he said, purposefully dismissive this time, before hanging up.

Connor pulled the phone away from his ear and shook his head. He put his phone on silent and went back to housing law. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.

* * *

 

The knock came a tad later than Oliver had expected but, the important thing was, that it still came. He didn’t bother to check who it was before opening the door wide.

“You’re late,” he told Connor who answered with a huff.

“You’re drunk,” Connor countered.

Oliver shook his head and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and ankles. “Nope.” He held up a finger. “Well. I was close when I messaged you but now…” Oliver shrugged. Because he wasn’t drunk, not even close anymore. Connor’d taken so long that Oliver had all of his facilities back. God help him.

Connor blinked. Twice. What was going on here? Why was Oliver acting like this? “Why’d you message me?”

“Why’d you call?”

“I asked you first.”

Oliver snorted and turned away to walk inside, leaving the door open. “Mature.”

“Mature?!?” Connor stormed into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. “You want to talk mature! You broke up with me with some fucking bullshit about wanting to be alone and then you—”

Then Oliver was on him. His lips captured Connor’s in a hard kiss. His hands grabbed Connor’s hips, pushing him back hard against the wall.

Connor groaned into the contact. Thank fucking God. _This_ is what he needed. This is what he’d been craving. This is what every other encounter he’d had in the past week was missing.

He curled fingers into Oliver’s soft hair and pulled hard, rewarded when Oliver’s mouth fell open on a gasp. Taking advantage, Connor slipped his tongue between Oliver’s lips and took the kiss deeper, pressed harder, demanded more.

With a moan, Oliver pressed Connor harder into the wall, rolling his hips against Connor’s seeking the friction they both craved. “Connor,” he whined, too desperate to care how needy he sounded.

“Yeah, Ollie,” Connor nipped at Oliver’s jaw, hid a kiss behind Oliver’s ear. “What do you want?”

“You,” was Oliver’s honest, breathless answer. “You, Connor. Want—”

“Still want my cum on your face?” Connor asked, sucking on Oliver’s earlobe. “Want me to paint you white.” Oliver moaned at the words so Connor added, “So pretty like that, Ollie. So pretty.”

With strangled groan, Oliver’s hands slipped down Connor’s thighs and lifted. Connor wrapped his legs around Oliver’s waist and clung.

“Take me to bed,” Connor commanded against Oliver’s lips and Oliver groaned as he complied.

They made it across the room in a few strides and Oliver tumbled them onto the mattress, a twisted mess of limbs and mouths and hands. Connor tugged Oliver’s tie free and whipped it off. Oliver unbuttoned Connor’s pants and tugged them down. They caught and Oliver growled in frustration. Why were Connor’s clothes being so difficult?

“Wait,” Connor said. “Boots.”

Oliver stopped and looked down. “Oh. Right.”

He glanced up with a hint of laughter in his eyes and Connor nearly smiled. The humor of the moment hung between them, both nearly grinning, both almost laughing. But this wasn’t supposed to be fun. This was fucking and they weren’t together and…

Pushing all that aside, Connor sat up. He tore off his boots and socks, whipped his pants and boxers off, and flung his shirt over his head. He turned on the bed, seeing that Oliver had made short work of his own clothing.

Choosing to be deliberately crude, Connor leaned back on his elbows. “Well…” He lifted an eyebrow and gestured with his chin. “Get to it.”

Eyes on Connor’s, Oliver leaned down to do just that. He brushed his nose through the coarse curls at Connor’s base and inhaled _Connor_. He opened his mouth, letting his lips and tongue softly ghost up the side of Connor’s shaft. Licking his palm, Oliver curled a fist around Connor’s cock, slowly starting to jack him off, while his tongue circled the head.

“Ollie,” Connor begged softly and Oliver smiled before slipping Connor’s head between his lips.

He started shallow at first, slowly bobbing his head, taking Connor just a bit deeper with each thrust, his hand getting tighter and faster.

“Jesus.” Connor’s head fell back and Oliver smiled again.

He slipped off, licking down the side of Connor’s cock to take one of Connor’s balls in his mouth and suck, hard.

A hand pressed hard to the back of Oliver’s head and Connor groaned. “Fuck yes.” Oliver opened his mouth wide, trying to take both in his mouth and Connor lost it. He knotted his hand in Oliver’s hair and dragged him back to his cock.

“Fuck. Ollie.” Connor’s hips thrust hard and fast into the tight, wet heat of Oliver’s mouth. Oliver opened his mouth wide, relaxed his throat, and let Connor fuck his face, fast and brutal. “Gonna—!”

Oliver broke free of Connor’s hand to catch his breath. “Do it.” He brushed a cheek against Connor’s head, pre-cum trailing on cheek. He locked eyes with Connor and swiped a bead off Connor’s tip, holding on his tongue before swallowing it. “Do it, Connor.”

“No,” Connor breathed, reaching to pull Oliver up. “Wanna fuck you. Need to—”

Straddling Connor’s hips, Oliver tangled fingers in his hair and groaned into a kiss. “Fuck me, Con,” Oliver begged, thrusting soft against Connor’s stomach. “Fuck me. Need it. Need you so bad.”

With a curse, Connor pulled away, digging in the bedside table for lube and a condom. Retrieving both, Connor settled back against the headboard, Oliver still straddling his lap.

Squirting some lube onto his fingers, Connor brushed a finger against Oliver’s hole. Again and again until the ring of muscle relaxed enough for Connor to slip a fingertip inside.

Oliver whined and wrapped his arms around Connor’s shoulders, burying his face in Connor’s neck as he slowly took Connor inside.

Connor grinned and nipped at Oliver’s shoulder. Jesus. Oliver was tight. “Got you, Olls.” Always got you. Always yours.

When he thought Oliver was ready, Connor added a finger and Oliver arched back. He bit his lip and threw back his head, the cords of his neck straining. Holy fuck. Was he gorgeous. “You good, baby?” Connor crooned, stilling his fingers inside Oliver.

“Yeah,” the word was breathless and Oliver rested his forehead against Connor’s. “Just… _tight_.”

Fuck. Connor’s fingers resumed fucking into Oliver, stretching his hole, searching for that bundle of nerves.

Oliver groaned again and his eyes locked on Connor’s. “Connor, I need—”

“Got what you need, Ollie.” Connor’s fingers finally brushed against Oliver’s prostate and Oliver groaned, high and loud. “Got you.”

“I’m—” Oliver wrapped a hand around his cock, frantically fucking his fist, and Connor bit back a curse. Was Oliver really gonna come from two of Connor’s fingers? Holy fuck.

“Yeah, Ollie,” Connor moaned and sucked a mark at the base of Oliver’s neck. “Do it, baby. Do it.”

“No. Not—”

Connor froze at Oliver’s cry, fingers pulling out, mouth lifting from Oliver’s skin. “Oliver?”

“Wanna come on your cock.” Oliver brushed Connor’s hair back and took his mouth in his kiss. “Wanna come with you, Connor,” Oliver panted against Connor’s lips. “Not fingers. You.”

“Jesus.” Connor’s fingers shook as he picked up the condom he’d discarded earlier. He couldn’t get the foil off, the stupid thing wouldn’t open. “Fuck,” he cursed.

Oliver took the packet from him, quickly opening it, and rolling it down Connor’s shaft. Reaching for the lube, Oliver spread some over Connor’s penis before climbing back into his lap.

“This okay?” he asked, referring to the position and Connor could only nod. Reaching back, Oliver held Connor’s cock in place as he lowered himself down, taking him slowly down to the base.

“Ollie, fuck.” Connor’s fingers held on tight to Oliver’s hips, breathing hard and trying not to move, not to thrust hard into Oliver’s beautiful heat. “So good,” Connor breathed, running a hand down Oliver’s thigh. “So good.”

Oliver paused when he’d finally taken all of Connor in. He wrapped his arms around Connor’s shoulder and clung, burying his face in Connor’s hair. “Con,” he whispered, just a bit broken. How had he forgotten how this felt? How holy, how sacred this moment could be?

Connor held tighter, lips ghosting over Oliver’s shoulder. “I got you,” he whispered back, ignoring the catch in his voice. “Got you, Ollie.”

Oliver started to rock a little bit back and forth, making little figure eight’s on Connor’s cock, and whined at the feel, the stretch, the weight of Connor inside him.

Connor chuckled darkly. “You forget how to take my cock, baby?”

Oliver groaned and clung to Connor tighter. “It’s just—” Connor began to softly, gently thrust up and Oliver took his earlobe between his teeth. “Just been a long time.”

That made Connor smile more than it should have. Good. He was perversely, stupidly, unbelievably glad that no one else had made Oliver feel like this overwhelmed, feel this…this loved.

That thought made him pause. What the fuck was he doing? This wasn’t love. This was fucking and maybe a bit of hate sex and…and they weren’t getting back together. Oliver had messaged him because he was drunk and horny and he knew Connor would answer.

Connor needed to remember that but it was hard with Oliver whining in his ear, whispering, “Connor, need—need you.” He pulled back, pulled out of Oliver’s arms.

“Con—?”

“Cramp,” Connor lied before Oliver could ask. He looked away, avoiding Oliver’s eyes; Oliver had always been good at calling Connor on his bullshit. “Can we—?”

“Yeah.”

Oliver pulled off and bit his lip to mask the soft whimper he made as his hole clenched, trying to hold Connor in. The soft noise slipped through Oliver’s lips anyway and Connor closed his eyes. Fuck. This was going to kill him. He was deleting humpr or blocking Oliver or something.

“How do you—?” Oliver asked. “On my back or—?”

“No.” They could still look each other in the eyes if Oliver was on his back. They could still kiss. They could still touch. That wouldn’t do. “No. Uh…” Connor looked around, still avoiding Oliver’s eyes. “Hands and knees,” he said, his voice lifting at the end to make it almost a question.

Oliver nodded and started to get into position. As they rearranged, their eyes met and Oliver gave Connor a sad smile. He knew what this was, he knew what was going on. Connor needed distance and, really, Oliver could fault him for that. He needed distance too. Connor wasn’t the only one who needed to remember what this was.

Connor ran a gentle hand down Oliver’s back. “Ready?” He waited for Oliver to nod and, even then, went slow at first before picking up speed.

“Connor,” Oliver groaned, dropping from hands to elbows. Jesus. Connor almost felt bigger this way. Oliver felt stretched wider, stuffed fuller.

“Yeah, baby,” Connor said, smiling to himself. He thrusted hard now, fast and deep, no longer holding on to the delusion that they were making love. He was fucking Oliver and it didn’t threaten his heart at all. “This what you need?” he asked breathlessly. “Me fucking you?”

Oliver panted a “Yeah,” but it was lost under the noise of them fucking, the sound of Connor’s balls slapping his hole, the bed groaning beneath them.

Oliver got a hand on himself and started fucking his fist in time with Connor’s thrusts. He knotted a hand in the sheets, pulling the corner free, and buried his moans in a pillow. This, _Connor_ , was what he’d needed, what he’d craved for weeks now. Connor’s cock hard and thick in his ass, Connor brushing against his prostate with every thrust, Connor, Connor, Connor.

“Fuck,” Oliver cried. “I’m gonna—gonna—”

Connor put an arm under Oliver’s chest and hauled him up so Oliver’s back was flush against his front. He knew he shouldn’t, he knew he’d chosen this way to get some distance between them but Connor couldn’t resist. Oliver was stunning when he came. His eyes closed, his mouth open in a silent cry. Connor loved it, _loved_ —

“Gonna cum, Ollie,” he whispered into Oliver’s ear. “Gonna cum with my cock in your ass.”

“Yeah.” Oliver let his head fall back on Connor’s shoulder. It was too much. Connor moving hard and fast inside him. Connor’s hand toying with one of his nipples. Connor’s breath in his ear. “Con—gonna—!”

Connor’s hand joined Oliver’s and they made a tight fist. “Do it.” Connor nipped at Oliver’s neck. “Let go for me, Ollie. Let go.”

Oliver blindly turned, seeking Connor’s mouth. He came in hot, white bursts over their joined fist and started to cry, “Con—!” when Connor’s lips found his, silencing Oliver’s cry. They kissed as Oliver came down and Connor’s hand remained with his as he softly thrust into Oliver, nursing him through the aftershocks.

“So…” Oliver shuddered as Connor started to pick up speed again. God, this was _good_. “You still gonna cum on my face or you wanna fill my ass?”

“Oh fuck.” Connor dropped his head to Oliver’s shoulder with a groan. Jesus. Oliver speaking those words shouldn’t be so hot. “Ollie—”

“Do it.” Oliver reached back, cupping one of Connor’s ass cheeks, holding him close. “Want you on me, Con. In me. Want you—”

Unable to take anymore, unable to hold off, Connor pulled out. “Face,” he barked as he flipped Oliver over and onto his back with one hand. Ripping off the condom and throwing it god knew where, Connor moved up next to Oliver’s head. His hand flew over his cock and he knotted the other hand in Oliver’s hair, tiling his face up.

“Gonna cum all over you, Ollie,” Connor growled out. “Gonna paint you so pretty.”

“Yes,” Oliver breathed. He opened his mouth, trying to take Connor’s head between his lips, but Connor pulled Oliver away. Oliver whined at the loss, “Con—”

“Close—!” Connor tried to say and, thankfully, Oliver got the message, closing his eyes and mouth, tilting his face farther up just as Connor came with a shout. White, hot streaks landed on Oliver’s eyelid and cheek, his chin and chest. Bits landed on his neck and nose and Connor groaned at the sight. The sight of Ollie, _his Ollie_ , all marked up.

Connor wiped off Oliver’s eyelid and Oliver opened his eyes. He glanced at Connor’s thumb, covered in cum, and wordlessly opened his mouth. Connor ran the thumb along Oliver’s lips then took his mouth, groaning at the taste of himself mixed so deliciously with Oliver.

“Ollie,” Connor whispered against Oliver’s lips, voice all reverence and awe. He settled down beside Oliver, stretching out his legs so their’s tangled together, cupping a hand under the back of Oliver’s neck.

Without breaking the kiss, Oliver snuck a hand around Connor’s waist, running fingertips up his back. “Con,” he too whispered. _My Con._

With a noise of pleasure, Connor broke the kiss, tucking his face away into Oliver’s neck.

They held each other then, softly, securely, ignoring the screaming in their heads. The voices of _What the fuck are you doing?_ and _Let go of him now._

The moment stretched. Oliver’s hand stilled on Connor’s back. Every muscle in Connor seemed to tense.

_What the fuck are you doing?_ Oliver asked himself.

_Let go of him now_ , Connor told himself.

But still, they each hesitated, just for a moment. Half a heartbeat, half a breath. Until, at the same moment—

“You can stay.” “I should go.”

Connor lifted. Oliver shifted away. They still touched but the warmth between them was leaving. Then, again at the same moment—

“Really? I can—” “You’re right. You should—”

They both paused then, waiting for the other to speak first. Oliver decided enough was enough and his smile was weak as he offered, “Stay.”

“No,” Connor said resolutely. He sat up then, breaking all contact. “No, I should go.”

He got up just as Oliver sat to reach out. “Connor, I—”

“Nah. I should…” _Leave. Right now. I shouldn’t have even come in the first place._ He gestured at the bathroom. “Can I—?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Quickly grabbing up his clothes, Connor disappeared into the bathroom and Oliver flopped back down the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. What the fuck had he been thinking? Why had he thought messaging Connor was a good idea? What the hell was wrong with him?

Inside the bathroom, Connor quickly cleaned up and dressed. He dug his phone out of his pocket and arranged for a car, lest he be tempted to stay. The confirmation quickly came through. He had seven minutes. Grabbing a washcloth out of the closet, Connor quickly dampened it with some warm water and left the bathroom.

He found Oliver still on the bed, a pair of boxers hastily thrown on and cleaning himself up with a tissue.

“Here.” Connor offered up the washcloth.

Oliver took it gratefully, tossing the ruined tissue down on the nightstand. “Thanks.”

Connor sat on the edge of bed to put his boots back on and Oliver quickly cleaned himself off the cloth, wiping cum off his face and neck and chest.

“What to tell me what this was?” Connor asked cooly, fighting with a boot.

“You know what this was,” Oliver answered, equally cool.

Connor raised an eyebrow and looked at his ex. “Why’d you message me?”

Avoiding Connor’s eyes, Oliver shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

Oliver’s eyes locked on Connor’s. “I—” He started, planning to lie but changed his mind. “I was angry,” he answered.

“Great.” A bit disgusted with both of them, Connor leaned down to pull on his other boot. “Well now you’re officially the best hate sex I’ve ever had. Congratulations.”

“Not at _you_ ,” Oliver was quick to clarify. He sat up, inching over next to Connor’s hip. “At…at me, I think.”

That got Connor’s attention. “At you? You’re angry at yourself?”

“I think. I don’t know.” Oliver shrugged and picked at his fingernails. “I just…I don’t know anything anymore, Connor. I don’t know what I’m doing or why or…” He trailed off and Connor stilled, eyes never leaving Oliver’s face. “I quit my job. I break up with you. I start working for Annalise Keating of all people. I message you tonight, goad you into coming over. I just…I don’t know…”

Oliver trailed and Connor didn’t know what to say. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to wrap an arm around Oliver’s shoulder and pull him in close. He wanted to kiss his temple and whisper that ‘It’s going to be okay, Olls. We’ll figure it out.’ But they wouldn’t figure anything out. Oliver would figure it out, all on his own. Just like he wanted.

“I’m sorry, Connor,” Oliver whispered. “I shouldn’t have messaged you. Shouldn’t have let you in. Shouldn’t have dragged you back into this…this mess.”

“No. It’s…” Connor grasped at straws. He didn’t know what to say. “It’s fine you messaged me. It’s…it’s always fine.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Well, maybe next time just don’t do it on humpr,” Connor tried to joke. “Next time, just text.”

“And you’d answer?” Oliver asked with a scoff.

“Yeah.” Connor thought he was a little offended at that. “I’ll always answer you,” Connor told him. “Nothing could change that.”

“Really?” Now it was Oliver who couldn’t look away from Connor’s face.

“Of course.” Connor shrugged. “You’re family, Oliver.”

Oliver’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say to that, how to respond to the almost casual way Connor said it. As if it was a given, as if Oliver being an important piece of Connor’s life a privilege Oliver could never lose. _You’re family, Oliver._

“I miss you,” Oliver said and instantly cursed himself. Closing his eyes, he rambled on, “No. That’s—I mean, I _do_ miss you and _us_ and everything but…but I…” Oliver opened his eyes. “You’re my best friend, Connor,” he whispered, hating the tears swimming in his eyes. “My best—and…and I don’t know how without you…I can’t…”

Connor closed a hand over Oliver’s. “Maybe,” he started softly, ignoring how his own voice caught on the words. “Maybe we just try to do that for a little while. Maybe we just try to be friends again.”

Remembering the unexpected pain weeks ago when Connor had said they weren’t friends, Oliver nodded quickly. “Yeah—” His voice cracked as he pulled back a sob. “I’d like that.”

“Okay. Good.” Connor nodded. Then, just to see Oliver laugh, he added, “Friends with benefits.”

Oliver snorted and bumped his shoulder against Connor’s. “Let’s try for just friends.”

“Says the man who messaged me on humpr,” Connor shot back and was rewarded when Oliver snorted again.

“Says the man who messaged you on humpr,” Oliver said.

They smiled at each other but the moment was broken when Connor’s phone beeped. “Car’s here,” he said with a glance at the screen. “I should go.”

Oliver nodded. “Yeah. I’ll walk you out.”

At the door, they hesitated, not knowing if a hug or handshake or wave was most appropriate. In the end, they both leaned in for a brief hug before breaking away.

“Well…” Oliver leaned against the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow,” Connor said with a final wave.

Oliver watched Connor walk down the hall and turn the corner before he shut and locked the door of 303.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


End file.
